In the course of my lifetime I have celebrated Thanksgiving in seven different states from Connecticut in the east, west to Hawaii and on to Virginia as the farthest south. Along with the variety of venues, this day of thanks has been spent with an ever-changing cast of characters, from members of my family to in-laws, good friends to not so close friends who didn’t have anyone to share the day with.
I suppose if you’ve always lived in the same place and have time-honored traditions of going to the same house and celebrating with the same people each year, this might sound strange. You might think that I’ve somehow missed out. I can assure you nothing could be further from the truth.
Although on some years, like this one, we didn’t have actual family members with us on turkey day, we were surrounded by them in spirit. Our table was an altar of remembrance, complete with Dave’s mother’s crystal, my mother’s milk glass salt and pepper shakers as well as the ceramic pilgrims she made for me several years ago. On the wall behind the table you can see some of the family photos that surround us when we sit and share a meal in that room. Even the crazy quilt piece on the wall was framed by my mother as a gift to her mother. So, even though we aren’t actually sitting with family, we are among them.
Joining us this year were newish friends, Bobie and Rusty who, like ourselves, were at loose ends this year. Together we blended our traditions with theirs and celebrated a most wonderful day cooking and eating too much. As we shared our meal, we shared our families as well through stories of holidays gone by. This also draws us closer to our families and each other.
It was a delightful day. Throughout the day I did actually speak to many of my actual family members and texted some of the others, so not all of my family time was nostalgic. And, if I could snap my fingers and bring everyone I love together in one room to share a Thanksgiving meal, that would be incredible. But, since that isn’t a possibility, having the opportunity to spend the day with good friends in remembrance and thanks is about as good as it gets.
The Morris family on the front porch of their new home.
Yesterday something wonderful happened. After a five-year gap, Habitat for Humanity of Greene County, VA handed over the keys for a newly refurbished home to its new owners, the Morris family.
There is a popular misconception that Habitat for Humanity gives houses away to people. This could not be further from the truth. In fact, not only will Sandra and Jon Morris be paying on the mortgage for their new home, but before they ever received the keys, they and their extended family worked alongside our Habitat for Humanity volunteer work crew, completing more than 25% of the 1,500 + hours it took to bring this house back from its former rundown state to the comfortable three bedroom home it is today.
This was a combined effort, a labor of faith, trust and of love for everyone involved. Beginning last November, working the first two Saturdays of each month, 70-some volunteers worked on this project; pulling down drywall, ripping out rotted flooring, crawling under the home to pull out old insulation, painting, caulking, replacing all the windows and exterior doors, gutting and remodeling the kitchen and bathroom and sprucing up the landscaping. Supporting their efforts, members and organizations in the community brought lunches so they didn’t have to worry about bringing a lunch or going out and getting something to eat.
It was a long year pulling this project together. Fundraising is a challenge in our community. Our Steering Committee is small, whittled down to five volunteer members and a part-time Chapter Director but with dedication, long hours and our eyes focused on our partner family, we managed to get it done.
It was heart warming to see so many members of our community show up on a very blustery November afternoon to show their support for Habitat for Humanity Greene County and the new family as they joyfully accepted they keys to their new home. I know I walked away with a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction.
We can’t rest too long on our laurels because we have another family waiting in the wings, who like the Morris’, have already worked alongside our crew with the understanding that their home will be the next one to be built.
Like other places in our country, affordable housing is an issue that has long been ignored by many. Our national conversation seems to be centered on gun owners’ rights, immigration and same-sex marriage as threats to the American way of life, it seems to me that affordable housing is a more pressing problem. More time and effort needs to be spent on finding ways to ensure that everyone has a decent, affordable place to live in this country of abundance and grace. Over the past five years I have visited homes of folks desperate to live free of leaky roofs, rotting floors, and over crowding. You might ask, why don’t they simply move? The short answer is that there is no place for them to go. Many of them are elderly or disabled and Social Security is their only form of income. In many cases, that would barely cover rent let alone food, health care, transportation.
This is a problem I certainly can’t solve on my own. At best I can recognize it and share my observations with others and keep plugging along with Habitat for Humanity trying to find the answer one family at a time and pray that others will join me. If the six of us can organize the rehab of a home for one family, imagine what ten or twenty of us could do!
Here is the link to the NBC29 spot on our dedication: http://www.nbc29.com/clip/13920142/habitat-for-humanity-renovates-home-for-greene-family
I am very thankful for this man who will happily share his Oreo with a cat.
Writing my blog used to come as naturally to me as sitting down with an old friend and sharing my thoughts. For the past year, it has been a struggle. To say the rug was pulled out from under me with the results of last November’s election would be an understatement. I can’t remember a time in my life when I felt so unsettled, including seventh grade which was previously the worst year of my life. Perhaps now, like then, I am at a transitional time of life. In any case, one year later, I’ve become functionally comfortable with the new normal and I am resolved to take a more positive approach to life.
With Thanksgiving a little more than a week away, I decided to take a few minutes to take stock of my life and identify my Top 10 of what I am most thankful for this year. They are not necessarily in the order of importance, just in the order that came to mind. I’d rather not spend the time worrying about whether on not I have them ordered properly.
First and foremost, I am thankful for my husband, Dave. Dave and I have been together for more than forty years, sharing the ups and downs of life from our late teens to middle age. He is not perfect, but he is perfect for me. He has always supported me in everything I do, including allowing me to work for free as a volunteer for most of my work life. He is very forgiving, and for that I am very thankful.
I am thankful for my children, Maggie and Andy. Bringing these two people into the world and nurturing them from cradle to young adulthood was both a labor of love and an honor. They too have experienced the best and worst of me and I don’t know how I could be any prouder of them. I’ll include my son-in-law, Jan in this group as well. Although he didn’t grow up in our house, over the years he has grown into my heart. Watching Jan and Maggie begin their family has been a tremendous joy.
I am thankful for my three grandchildren, Seth, Caleb and Kaspar. Each of these boys have given me the opportunity to hold a newborn and see the world through the eyes of a child without the burden of parenthood. Being a part of their lives has been a unique privilege that I treasure with all my heart.
I am thankful for my extended family. I feel so fortunate that at this time in my life I still have both of my parents and all of my siblings as close as a phone call. They along with my aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews and offspring provide me with a patchwork quilt of variety in our diverse gene pool. I am equally thankful for the generations that preceded them, my grandparents and great-grandparents. Each and every one of them has impacted me in some way and each holds a special place in my heart. I am also thankful for my sisters and brothers in law. Each of them have brought a unique perspective of family life that I couldn’t have seen without their presence. Also included here are Jim and Bonnie. Although there is no general term for our relationship, the bond between us is love filled and unbreakable. For them I am especially thankful and blessed.
I am thankful for my faith. Despite the ugliness of the world, I try to see God’s work in all things. I don’t pretend to understand the “whys” and am thankful that I am not required to. That is where my faith comes in. Without this spring of hope in my heart, I don’t know where I would be. My faith has carried me through the times when I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
I am thankful for my health. I am thankful that at 62 I am still able to go to the gym and kick ass. Naturally, it is my ass being kicked but as my trainer Lorenzo says, I am magnificent. Staying strong has allowed me to be able to work along side Dave in our yard, sharing the burden of the heavy lifting.
I am thankful for the hundreds of folks I call friends. Having lived in more than a dozen zip codes over the course my life, I have been fortunate to have so many incredible people cross my path. Many have become as close as family or as we called it in Hawai’i, “Ohana”. You too have a very special place in my heart.
I am thankful for the beauty of creation and for the people in my life who have taught me to appreciate and respect it. Whether it has been visiting the Kilauea volcano or just watching the birds at my backyard feeders, it is all a wonder and I am in awe.
I am thankful for the gifts and talents God has given me. I know that all I can do did not come to me because I deserved it nor is it purely for my own delight. I fully believe that, “to whom much is given, much is expected” and routinely try and fail at living up to that truth.
I am thankful for the availability of music. Music in all forms; from classical to hiphop, popular and eclectic, orchestral or solitary, with or without instruments or words, it all touches my soul in a way other forms of expression cannot. I’m not a talented singer nor can I play an instrument but I have loved to sing as long as I can remember.
Like I said, these are the first ten things that came to mind and the last one sort of surprised me. I know that as soon as I hit the “Publish” button, number eleven will pop into my head and I will regret not having thought of it earlier. I’ll just have to take my chances.
Last weekend Dave and I took advantage of a long-standing invitation from our friends Kathy and Paul to come for a weekend visit at their home on Virginia’s Northern Neck . I’d been looking forward to the opportunity to the break in our routine. It’s been a long, hot summer and after the events in Charlottesville two weeks ago, I was ready to distance myself from the place and conversational noise.
We spent two and a half blissful quiet days on “the Rivah” where time seems to stand still. Everything we did was quiet, whether while driving the back roads through fields of corn and soybeans, stopping by to read a historic marker, sipping a glass on wine at a local winery or just sitting on the bank watching the water. For the most part, the only “noise” was the cordial conversation between friends or the occasional blue heron squawking as it took flight. There was no television, no radio, no Twitter or news (although I have to admit I did check my email a couple of times). It was more than nice, it was restorative.
I thought I’d become numb to the ugly noise but having spent the time away, it’s pretty obvious that I haven’t.
These days when a couple is expecting a baby they generally have the opportunity to find out the child’s gender prior to the day of delivery. Back in the day when my last child was born, ultrasound technology was not quite so accurate but just the same, to have an image of the child growing inside of me was still very exciting. The resolution wasn’t good but the photo I got to take home with me clearly showed the top of a head and I proudly showed it to anyone who cared to see it.
In those days, with no clinical manner of determining gender, there were many unscientific ways of prediction. One of the OB’s in the practice attending me swore that he could tell whether a baby was a boy or girl simply by the speed of the heartbeat. His colleagues teased that he was consistently incorrect 100% of the time so whatever he told you, you could pretty much count on the opposite. There were also tests involving pencils, string and a needle and one the involved mixing urine with Drano and some people claimed you could tell the gender by the size and shape of the baby bump; high and wide meant a girl, basketball shape out front meant a boy. And so, it wasn’t until my second baby was born thirty-four years ago today and I heard the words, “It’s a boy!”, that I learned I was to be the mother of a son.
Even if an ultrasound could have determined that Andy was a boy before he was born, there was nothing it could have done to have predicted what an incredible impact he would have upon my life. He was a cuddly baby, full of hugs and smiles. I often caught him flirting with other women while perched in a shopping carts while we were in stores. Maggie kept him amused and could make him laugh like nobody else.
Gifted with a razor-sharp mind and intellect, Andy kept me on my toes and at the edge of my composure most of the time until his chronological age caught up with his ability to reason. Having an adult intellect in a child’s body is a frustrating thing. In every argument he was always at least one step ahead of me and he never readily accepted, “Because I said so,” as gospel. Because Dave’s Naval career kept him out of the picture so much of the time, I was pretty much on my own fumbling my way through parenting him. Looking back I sometimes wonder if I’d been a bit more mature at the time, life might have been easier but the struggle of growing up together brought us very close and today I wouldn’t trade that anything.
On paper, Andy has achieved many things parents could brag about and sometimes, like now, I do. But what makes me the proudest of him is the kind, caring man he has grown into.
Over the years our “Andy” morphed into “Andrew” to the world and at thirty-four is off on his own, as he should be. But there are times, especially when I see young families, that I wish I could roll back the years just for a few moments and feel his chubby little fingers around my neck, giving me a hug. He is my precious boy, my son. Happy Birthday Honey!
For the past five years I have been an active member of our local Habitat for Humanity chapter. I was recruited as a volunteer at our first Town of Stanardsville July 4th celebration when I my eye caught sight of a bright Federal Safety yellow t-shirt waving in the breeze as it hung from the side of a canopy. Sure, I thought, I’d buy a t-shirt to support Habitat for Humanity. Little did I know what I was getting into. In short order I was providing my contact information and within a few short weeks was attending a Steering Committee meeting and installed as recording secretary.
Like most people, my understanding of how Habitat for Humanity works was based on news blurbs I’d seen highlighting Jimmy Carter swinging a hammer on a home build. I could do that. I wanted to do that. As a small child I was encouraged to learn how to handle tools and watched my father fix almost everything in our house that needed repair. I was ready, willing and able to pick up a hammer and get going. I also believed that this was work worth doing, a way I could put skin and bones on the body of Christ and actually work to make a difference in someone else’s life.
As a member of the Greene County Habitat for Humanity Steering Committee I learned pretty quickly that it takes a whole lot more than willing volunteers with hammers and mechanical aptitude to build a house. Before the first nail can be hammered, it takes a group of people willing to spend hours of planning and problem solving and a whole lot of cash.
Early HFH Greene home-build.
Prior to my joining the group, the model had been to fund raise and build in alternate years but over time and had successfully build four homes in eleven years. Due to a variety of circumstances, the core group on the Steering Committee shrank to barebones. Eventually, for all intents and purposes I was left the “last man standing”. With the help of a very young and energetic Americorps Volunteer, we were able to recruit additional committee members and stay keep Habitat for Humanity alive in Greene County.
Over the years we have attempted to raise funds by a handful of unsuccessful mailing campaigns, spaghetti dinners and community events with meager results. I think most people (myself included) think that project funding for Habitat for Humanity comes from the vast resources of an international organization. Not true. In fact, for the most part, every single dollar spent on our local Habitat for Humanity projects must be raised from within our community. Not only that, we are forced to compete with Habitat for Humanity International in our fund-raising efforts. Just a few months ago I received a solicitation from HFH International as I’m sure most folks in the county did. And, my guess is that many folks made donations under the misimpression that they would be benefiting our local organization.
Volunteers pose on a new ramp at the end of the day.
With limited funds, for the past several years our group has concentrated on providing handicap access ramps for our community which as a large population of disabled people living on very modest fixed incomes. While the work has been rewarding, we all dreamed of the day when we could fulfill our mission and provide a safe, affordable home for a working family in Greene.
Last summer an opportunity to do that became available. Habitat for Humanity Virginia, our overseeing entity, was able to purchase a home through a HUD foreclosure program in the town of Stanardsville. Since November, our volunteer crews have been working to rehab this long neglected home and get it ready for a deserving local family.
With a combination of Federal Neighborhood Stabilization Program Funds and resources at hand, we were certain we’d be able to easily complete this project. Last year we began our Partner Family Application Process and chose two families to participate in our program. One of these families will move into our current project home.
There is a common misconception that Habitat for Humanity gives homes to people. This is simply not true. Not only do our families have to secure mortgages to pay for their homes but they also have to actually help build them. Each adult family member has a required number of “sweat equity” hours they must work and we diligently track them. On any given Saturday, if you stop by our project home, you will find not only the family who will move in, but the next one in line as well, doing whatever they are able to do, whether it’s hammering, painting, sanding or even cleaning.
Volunteers get started on the deck of the Holmes Run Place project home.
People also believe that all the materials used on our projects are donated. This is also not true. While we sometimes receive discounts for items purchased, most of the time we pay full retail price for everything we need. Our real savings comes in labor costs. By relying on a volunteer labor force, we are able to cut the cost dramatically. In this respect, we have been blessed. On any given Saturday workday, we will have between fifteen and twenty volunteers of all ages; some even from our local high school, all working to “get ‘er done.”
Members of the Greene County Ruritan Club brought pizza to our work crew in March.
We have also been blessed by the generosity of our neighbors who provide lunch for our work crews. Organizations including the local Ruritan and Farm Bureau Ladies’ Auxiliary and other individuals have delivered hot lunches to our site. On our last workday, lunch was provided by one of our previous partner families, the Jenkins, who will be celebrating their eighth anniversary in their Habitat home this coming September. It was a real treat to our volunteers as well as the partner families to meet them and hear their success story.
Working with Habitat for Humanity in Greene County has been an incredible experience for me these past five years. It has helped me become a real part of this community in ways that most newcomers don’t get. It is a warm, generous community eager to help their neighbors whenever they can. Getting the word out is our biggest challenge.
Greene County is tiny and borders the much larger Albemarle County. Nearby the City of Charlottesville and University of Virginia tend to grab most of the media attention for our area. All too often when I’m out and about in the community people tell me they volunteer with (and probably donate to) the Habitat for Humanity group in Charlottesville because they didn’t know we have a chapter in Greene.
So, in case you didn’t know, Greene County does have its own chapter of Habitat for Humanity and we are alive and committed to provide safe and affordable housing for our community. We can’t do it alone. We need the support of our entire community. If you would like to help out, you can send a check to:
Habitat for Humanity Greene County , PO Box 150, Ruckersville, VA 22968
or go to our webpage (www.greenehabitatva.org) where you can use your credit card. Any and every little bit helps.
Our Mission
“Habitat for Humanity works in partnership with God and people everywhere, from all walks of life, to develop communities with people in need by building and renovating houses so that there are decent houses in decent communities in which every person can experience God’s love and can live and grow into all that God intends.”
Dave and I enjoying the coolness of Oregon in June.
While visiting Oregon last week Dave and I spent most of our time outside, enjoying the cooler temperatures. Andy made sure we got out and saw as many of the local sites we could cram into our time out there without becoming too wiped out. Here is a sampling of some of the things we experienced on the left side of the country.
A wild Iris along the trail
Our first outing was to OSU’s Peavy Arboretum where we hiked a three and a half mile trail through the McDonald-Dunn Forrest. The trail was bordered by both cultivated and old growth trees, many which seemed to shoot straight to the sky. But the ground was uneven so it was really important to keep my eyes focused on the trail and that’s where I saw some really amazing things!
Impressive Banana Slug
There were bugs and berries and even the occasional wild flower like the little Iris pictured above. But the most impressive creature I saw was this giant Banana Slug I spied munching on a leaf. Slugs have never been one of my favorite creatures, but this one certainly gained my awe and respect.
The beach at Newport. No sunbathers that day!
One warm sunny morning we headed west on US Route 20 towards Newport Beach. These past six years living in Central Virginia have been the longest period in our married life when we’ve lived more than an hour’s drive to any ocean and we were ready for a fix. What we found as we crossed Oregon’s Coastal Range was that the beach experience for the Pacific Northwest is vastly different from that in Virginia or Hawaii. In fact, it was much more similar to Newport, RI where I never seemed to shake off a chill, even in the middle of the summer. Instead of sunny skies and warm sands, we discovered air chilled by the cold Pacific water along with fog and mist. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a high amount of humidity when it wasn’t raining. In fact, it was so humid that my normally straight hair actually began to curl!
Yaquina Lighthouse, Newport, OR. (It was pretty misty on the day we were there but if you click the link there are clearer photos taken when the sun was out.)
After making our damp pilgrimage to the shoreline, we hiked up to the Yaquina Bay Lighthouse which sits high atop a bluff. Built in 1871, it is considered the oldest building in Newport. When in operation from 1871 to 1874 it was home to the light keeper and his large family. It has been beautifully restored and furnished, providing a glimpse into what life would have been like in a time when its location would have been remote.
Wyland’s “Gray Whales off the Oregon Coast”
Despite the gloomy weather in Newport, we did find one familiar sight at the marina that connected us to almost all of our other ocean front experiences; a Wyland mural on the wall of the Depoe Bay Fish Company. Seeing this beautiful painting more than made up for the weather!
Atop Mary’s Peak
Having been through the forest and to the shore, it was only natural that we check out what was between the two, the Coastal Range. So, we took a trip up a long winding mountain road to hike up to Mary’s Peak in the Siuslaw National Forest.
When the clouds broke, the view was amazing!
Reaching over 4,000 feet in altitude, the view from atop this highest point in the Coastal Range was breathtaking, when the clouds and mist cooperated.
There was so much to see as we walked the paved trail up the hillside. The rocky banks were covered with orange and purple wild flowers in such an orderly fashion that it looked almost as if they were the remains of an abandoned rock garden. We spied a couple chipmunks scurrying between the rocks and there were enough songbirds filling the air with their sweet melodies to assure us that this was a very healthy ecosystem.
All in all, I truly enjoyed having the opportunity to get outside and explore the natural beauty of the Willamette Valley and Oregon coast. This time of year in Virginia I seem to be stuck indoors, looking out my office window. More times than not, even the most beautiful appearing day is hot and muggy and not at all pleasant for outdoor adventures.
I’ve hyperlinked most of the places we visited while on our trip so if you’d like more information on any of them, all you have to do is click.
Back in the last century, one of the first computer games my kids and I played was The Oregon Trail. Through the early computing capabilities of DOS and a 528K hard drive, they were transported back in time to choose a profession, load up a wagon and set off on the Oregon Trail. It took some planning because life along the trail was tough. Along with the variables of bad weather, disease and angry native peoples there were also the consequences of the planning choices at the beginning of the game. Was enough food and ammunition purchased? If too much was purchased there might not be enough money left to buy things you needed along the trail, too little and starvation could be a reality. How many oxen were needed? Was it best to keep going or take a day to rest now and then? Each delay along the trail meant you were one day closer to the early snows blocking the mountain passes. I don’t remember how many times our attempts to reach Oregon succeeded, just the hardships along the way. Usually most of us died before even reaching the half-way point.
Let’s face it, even today travel is still has its risks. No matter whether you drive, fly or take a train, the potential for discomfort or even disaster exists. Last week Dave and I made our own trip out to Corvallis, Oregon to visit our son Andy. In the weeks before we left it seemed as though the news was full of the perils of air travel. There were the all to common incidents of unruly passengers, cancelled flights and unpleasant gate agents all planting seeds in my mind that we were in for a very unpleasant experience.
Thankfully, there was nothing newsworthy about our travels. Most of our flights were delayed and all of our seats were uncomfortable, but aside from the guy who sat next to me from Atlanta to Portland who felt compelled to hold his newspaper wide open allowing his elbow to constantly make contact with my ribs, our flights were uneventful. We moved safely from one end of the country to the other in a matter of hours vice months and except for jet lag and some muscular stiffness, with no ill effects.
What we did experience in common with the early pioneers was the beauty of the Willamette Valley. It is a place of immense natural beauty. Bordered by the Cascade Mountains to the East, the Coastal Range to the West and the Columbia River to the North, with green in between, it is not hard to understand why anyone would have endured the hardships necessary to get to this spot to start a new life.
Aside from the greenery, the difference in the color of the rich loamy soil from the red Virginia clay in my own backyard was striking and the bounty of its richness was evident as we strolled by the stalls at the Corvallis Farm Market which overflowed with baskets of ripe berries, piles of fresh asparagus, kale, zucchini, peas and beans. And then there were the roses which were blooming everywhere!
For the most part the weather was a nice change from the mugginess of Central Virginia as well. In fact, each day and each different location we visited seemed to have its own micro-climate; cool and misty along the ocean front, mostly cloudy atop the mountains and warm but comfortable inland. In many ways the Willamette Valley reminded me of my childhood home in Western New York. Because of this, I was tickled when I learned that connecting these two parts of the county is US Route 20 which runs 3,365 miles from Portland, OR through Western New York and then on to Boston, MA, making it the longest road in the county.
Sadly, US 20 wasn’t completed until 1940, more than one hundred years too late for the early settlers who braved the hardships of the Oregon Trail. Today, most people probably would opt for driving on I 90 instead the stop and go of the US Route as it winds through town after town along the way and more probably choose to fly across county to save time. But, whatever way you go, the destination is well worth the trip!
PS… While Googling for information about the Oregon Trail game, I discovered that you can play it for free online! I tried it this morning and sadly didn’t even make it to Independence Rock before passing on! Here is the link if you’d like to give it a try! https://classicreload.com/oregon-trail.html
E Pluribus Unum Mosiac created from pieces of brick excavated at the living quarters of the enslaved people at Montpelier
Every once in a while life presents me with experiences in groups of three; three different events that on their own are important but when considered together provide a unique perspective.
My most recent trifecta epiphany started when I decided a little reading before turning off the light at night might help me drift off a bit more directly. Having heard that using digital devices before bed could interfere with sleep, I decided to grab a paperback instead. Since acquiring a Kindle many years ago, my supply of unread books is pretty limited so I grabbed the first one I saw on the shelf, a statistical study of the antebellum free black population of Amherst County, Virginia called Strangers In Their Midst by Sherrie S. McLeRoy and William R. McLeRoy. It’s a dry read, perfectly suited to directing my mind away from my own concerns an as I’d hoped after a few pages, my eyes began to blink indicating that it was time to turn out the light.
That isn’t to say the book is boring, because it is not. In fact, the information it contains is really fascinating. I’d never considered the possibility that there would have been any population of free blacks living in Virginia or any Southern State before the Civil War. But there were. And despite the fact that they were living in a place where most blacks were enslaved and not surprisingly there were laws in place restricting almost every aspect of their lives , many of these free blacks were successful people who owned property, paid taxes and made meaningful contributions to their community. Somehow they managed to overcome the obstacles in placed in their paths just as countless other oppressed peoples have throughout history. I’m finding that I’m looking forward to my fifteen minutes or so with this book every night. I am glad it’s a slow-go.
The second part of my trio came last Thursday morning in the form of a question from an Afro-American friend of mine. He asked me how I felt about a recent announcement in the news that the Ku Klux Klan has planned a rally in Charlottesville to protest the renaming of two city parks from Lee and Jackson Parks to Justice and Emancipation Parks. A very tough question to answer.
After a brief discussion, we both concluded that the Freedoms of Speech and Assembly guaranteed by the US Constitution must outweigh any repugnance we may feel about any group. But I couldn’t help feeling it was a little easier for me to feel that way since historically my family hasn’t been a target of the hate and fear mongering the Klan propagates. Perhaps I’d feel much differently had someone in my family been dragged away by a hooded crowd or a cross left burning in our yard.
The final part of my trifecta came later that evening when Dave and I headed off to James Madison’s Montpelier. We’ve been members of Montpelier for a couple of years and have enjoyed the special events they host for members. Last night we were treated to a special viewing of their newest addition; an exhibit entitled “A Mere Distinction of Colour”which chronicles the lives of some of the enslaved people who lived and worked on the plantation.
Maybe it was the complementary glass of Viognier I sipped as I strolled the path leading from the Visitors Center to the lawn of the grand home or perhaps it was the sum of my previous two experiences that had me fighting back tears as I watched the short introductory video that began my tour. In any case, I found myself connecting with the enslaved population of Montpelier and was struck hard when I saw my first name flash by on a roster of enslaved people.
The slave quarters on Montpelier’s South Yard sit just a short walk from the house.
I believe the folks at Montpelier have done a very good job of humanizing the enslaved peoples who lived and worked there. While there is no question that institution of slavery was anything but humane and systematically dehumanized the individuals who were enslaved, the furnishings in the cabins on the South Yard of Montpelier and the many interactive displays clearly show the humanity of these people who lived there, their hopes and dreams, their struggles to maintain their families and their herculean spirit that allowed them to persevere. It is not a romantic vantage point, but a balanced one.
Interior of Montpelier South Yard quarters.
I know that as a white woman, there is little in my life or family history that can remotely compare with what it must have been like to have experienced anything as obscene as enslavement. I could argue that throughout history women of all colors have been oppressed and continue to be in some parts of the world today; like that would give me some perspective.
And I suppose there are some who fail to see the necessity of visiting places like Montpelier to do anything other than look at the architecture but I think this exhibit has helped us better understand the reality that these were not simply a group of “slaves” who lived at Montpelier. There were men, women and children who lived their lives not for the benefit and enrichment of themselves, but for the livelihood and benefit of other people who made all the decisions affecting them, with little or no regard for their desires.
For us today, it is difficult to understand the mindset of the slaveholders and some even perhaps naively believe this is an episode from our past that should be forgotten and put to rest. But as the old line goes, if you don’t know your history, you are doomed to repeat it. This is not a legacy that I think any of us would care to repeat.
For the past five and a half years or so my trainer Lorenzo has been offering me by-weekly opportunities to strengthen my body, improve my balance and coordination and keep my heart in good shape. I never know what he’s got planned for me when I walk in the door and generally, when I get used to any particular exercise or routine, he mixes things up. Sometimes after my first morning of a new set of challenges, I leave the gym a little frustrated that I’m either just not getting it or I’ve reached the age when I can no longer improve myself. But other times, like today, I skip out the door as if I’m walking on air because I’ve been able to meet the challenge headfirst and have actually excelled.
What did I do this morning that was so special? I pressed 505 pounds on the leg press machine exceeding my previous personal best by five pounds. How did I do it? I haven’t been practicing on that machine. In fact, I haven’t even sat on it since I did my last press of 500 pounds just before Christmas. What I have been doing is showing up twice a week and doing whatever Lorenzo has me do. By keeping to the regular routine, I’ve been able to maintain my strength to not only handle what I could do before, but even achieve more.
Isn’t that how most things go in life? We all have routines we are comfortable with. And, even though we complain about it, we humans love to pretty much do the same thing day after day. Unexpected change in our lives can leave us feeling uneasy and maybe a bit inadequate as we attempt to navigate through the uncertainty. But, then there are other times when we are able to stay focused and are able to draw on all of our other previous life experience to carry us through.
Just as I was a late starter in getting myself in good physical shape by regular exercise, I have also been late in setting regular spiritual exercise for myself. As a child growing up in the Catholic Church, I was taught many prayers which I dutifully memorized. For me, prayer was simply reciting the words with some type of request tucked in the back of my head, “Please help me pass this test,” “Have Mom let me go to the beach with my friends,” “Make it stop raining.” The thing was, I knew God knew what was going on in my life, and what I wanted and needed, but I never quite learned that prayer was a two ended conversation and that I actually needed to listen to God.
Learning how to listen to God and disciplining myself to actually take the time to do it, have been a tremendous challenge for me. To be honest, dieting is easier! But I keep trying to set aside just a few minutes each day to quiet my mind, sweep away my own thoughts (I visualize the little street sweeper from “Fractured Fairy Tales”)and open myself to whatever I need to hear from God. I set a timer for ten minutes, close my eyes and sit back, waiting. I think of it as more like downloading information than an actual spoken conversation. When the chime rings, I open my eyes, refreshed and go about my day. I can’t tell you why these few moments a day strengthen work to strengthen my spirit, only that it does.
At the end of some days I still feel like I could have done better, but others, I have that some rush of pride like I had this morning in the gym, that I used all the skills I’ve been training for and have met the challenge of the day head-on.
In those days, with no clinical manner of determining gender, there were many unscientific ways of prediction. One of the OB’s in the practice attending me swore that he could tell whether a baby was a boy or girl simply by the speed of the heartbeat. His colleagues teased that he was consistently incorrect 100% of the time so whatever he told you, you could pretty much count on the opposite. There were also tests involving pencils, string and a needle and one the involved mixing urine with Drano and some people claimed you could tell the gender by the size and shape of the baby bump; high and wide meant a girl, basketball shape out front meant a boy. And so, it wasn’t until my second baby was born thirty-four years ago today and I heard the words, “It’s a boy!”, that I learned I was to be the mother of a son.
For the past five years I have been an active member of our local Habitat for Humanity chapter. I was recruited as a volunteer at our first Town of Stanardsville July 4th celebration when I my eye caught sight of a bright Federal Safety yellow t-shirt waving in the breeze as it hung from the side of a canopy. Sure, I thought, I’d buy a t-shirt to support Habitat for Humanity. Little did I know what I was getting into. In short order I was providing my contact information and within a few short weeks was attending a Steering Committee meeting and installed as recording secretary.
Back in the last century, one of the first computer games my kids and I played was 
